


Tower of the Agaraug

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Years of the Trees, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beleg falls gravely ill after crossing the Girdle of Melian from a poison uncured by any antidote. A race against time, Mablung and his company must find a cure and the reason for the mysterious disappearances of many in Mithrim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tower of the Agaraug

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Azzy_Darling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzy_Darling/gifts).



> Written for Azzy_Darling who requested elf/elf, supernatural, and angst. This story takes place before the coming of the Sun and Moon, when the Moriquendi are just becoming aware of the origin of orcs. More notes at the end! :)
> 
> Many thanks to Solanaceae for the beta read, and to Elleth too for helping me with some Sindarin! Love you both!

“Beleg, stop!” Mablung’s words fell on deaf ears, his only reply the rustle of leaves and breaking of twigs as the other elf raced down through the forest. Mablung followed after him, pulling back branches in time to see the other elf lean against a tree, breathing heavily, then start off again, the limp noticeable to even the most clumsy of eyes in the dark. 

“Beleg! Return here at once! Obey your captain’s orders!” 

With a pained groan, Beleg fell back against a tree, trembling. It gave Mablung enough time to reach him, inching close to study him by the faint lights of the great fortress of their king and queen close by. Beleg had been perfectly fine throughout their journey back to Doriath, but once they crossed the Girdle of Melian, he complained of feeling weaker before sprinting away like a terrified deer.

“Here, let me see you,” Mablung said, voice and manner far more gentle now that he was beside Beleg. Cupping Beleg’s face in his hands, he felt his forehead and checked for any signs of injury. 

“You do not have to fret so much over me, Mablung,” Beleg said, laughing weakly. “You are not my mother.” 

“A mother, no, I am not, but our love is more ancient than even Menegroth,” Mablung said. “Additionally I am your captain and thus responsible for your wellbeing. Any injuries or illness I must report to the king.” 

He peered into Beleg’s eyes, catching a flicker of a shadow passing through them that made him pause. Narrowing his eyes, he waited for any other peculiarities to show themselves, but when there were none, he patted Beleg on the shoulder and brought his lips against Beleg’s own. Immediately the taste of metal, thick and rancid, filled Mablung’s mouth and he instinctively pulled away. Ignoring Beleg’s questioning look, he prodded Beleg’s lips open with one finger and examined the inside, noting no blood or any cause for the strange taste. 

“Is there any reason for invading my mouth like this?” Beleg asked, getting visibly more annoyed by the minute. Mablung pulled his finger out. 

“Count yourself lucky. I could be invading something else.” Mablung cast a dark look at Beleg before winking. Beleg snorted, and soon the two were laughing, the odd situation momentarily forgotten. 

“There is nothing the matter with you,” Mablung said. “Perhaps you are just hungry.” 

“I’m telling you, I am fine,” Beleg said and took a few steps. 

“Then why are you limping?”

“I tripped over a protruding tree root.”

Mablung nodded, accepting his explanation. “Then why did you run off so suddenly after complaining you weren’t feeling well?” 

Beleg opened his mouth, closed it without uttering a sound, and shrugged his shoulders. “A sudden thought terrified me.” 

“What kind of thought?” 

Beleg met his eyes, face impassive, and Mablung stared back, waiting for that shadow which had passed over before to return. 

“Just a thought,” Beleg replied simply. “I may have been tired, and my imagination got the better of me.”

Mablung narrowed his eyes. “Was that all? Are you certain you do not wish for Aravilui to examine you?” 

“By the stars! I am fine, Mablung!” As though sensing he was being too harsh, Beleg kissed him, the metallic taste still on his lips, and gave Mablung an apologetic look. “Whatever this is, I will get better after some food and rest. Stop fretting, you oaf.” 

“I believe you. Your stubbornness and willpower are what attracted me to you in the first place.” 

They walked side by side the rest of the way to the kingdom, Mablung wrapping one protective arm around Beleg. He did not accept Beleg’s reasoning, but thought better of prodding the issue further. The thought of something ailing Beleg troubled Mablung, who had trained Beleg and knew the extent of his strength. It would be odd for any elf to fall into illness unless it was severe, but Beleg always pushed on with a brave face as he did in this moment, and Mablung resolved to just wait. They had not eaten for a day, after all, and sometimes Beleg couldn’t last long without a meal before complaining of headaches.

Upon reaching the gate, they bid the guard Tirithon a good day and a good night, then after a brief meeting with their king and queen, ate and head straight for their room. 

The servants had left the room spotless, nothing out of place since their departure. Mablung smiled at the hand statue proudly displayed on the bed’s headboard. His youngest brother had made it for him upon his promotion as captain of Doriath’s Marchwardens. It was a joke among his tribe, the Kinn-lai, that to display only the middle finger was a cry for the beholder to fly off like a bird, or as his family sometimes altered it, to mean that the beholder had already flown away from reason. And his dear brother had whittled just that statue, for he was growing tired of Mablung talking nonstop about his promotion to captain. He had treasured it ever since. 

As Beleg changed out of his clothes, Mablung kept a careful eye on him, watching for any physical abnormalities. Though he pretended to have forgotten Beleg’s earlier condition, he had kept glancing at him throughout their meal and the meeting with the king and queen. There couldn’t have been a fever without a cause, no matter how well Beleg appeared afterwards, displaying a cheerful disposition that didn’t quite convince Mablung. There was something else that had frightened him off beyond just a thought, but whatever the reason, Mablung had not even an inkling of what it could be. 

Beleg slid into bed, giving a soft moan of contentment. “We do not get to use this bed often, which is a shame, it’s so nice to lie here!” 

“I believe we’ve used it enough to crack a few dents in it,” Mablung teased as he joined Beleg under the covers. 

Beleg crawled on top of him, landing kisses over his neck and around towards his ear. “Shall we crack a few more?” 

Grabbing Beleg’s buttocks roughly, Mablung turned their positions over. “After all this travel, you wish to contend with me in this bed still?” he whispered slyly. “If you felt tired before, after I am done with you, you will not be able to draw breath!” 

“So says the elf who is tired himself and speaks threats which fall flat,” Beleg chuckled, earning himself a bite to the ear. 

“You must watch the words you speak, when you have seen me slay a band of orcs while half-asleep.” He kissed a spot just below Beleg’s neck. “I wonder how much of me you can take, my Mithvain. At the very least…” His hand shot up to Beleg’s forehead. “Your fever appears to be going down.” 

Beleg threw his head back and gave an annoyed groan. “Are you starting with this again?” 

“Because you do not see yourself,” Mablung said, squeezing Beleg underneath him out of both concern and annoyance. Here, under the light of their room, Beleg’s skin seemed oddly pallid against Mablung’s darker tone, almost as grey-tinged as his silvery hair. But deciding not to argue with his love any further, Mablung blew out the candle and they huddled close, Mablung still holding Beleg tight, as sleep took them both. 

Sometime in the night Mablung woke up to the sight of Beleg sitting upright, his eyes staring ahead. His skin appeared even paler, his body broken out in a cold sweat, the dark circles under his eyes indicative of not having slept at all. 

“Beleg?” 

Beleg, eyes haunted and full of fear, turned towards him. “They’ve been here the whole night.” 

“Who?” Mablung asked and sat up, his eyes trailing the same direction Beleg had been staring at. His eyes, accustomed to darkness, searched for any sign of another inhabiting their room, but there was none. Though he had little fear of anything, Beleg’s words, spoken so hollowly and distantly, brought the goosebumps rising on his arms. Regretfully, he remembered that his knives were at the other side of the room. They always placed their weapons in one corner, never having need for them inside Menegroth. 

“I see nothing.” Should there have been someone else in the room after all, Mablung was confident he could come out victorious in the fight even without a weapon. 

“They are still there.” 

Mablung frowned. “I do not see them.” Fully alert, he swung out of bed and made for the dark corner, one hand outstretched, examining. Growing frustrated, he turned back to Beleg. 

“Where are they?” he demanded. 

“They are right behind you,” Beleg said, wide-eyed, still in a hollow tone, “and in front of you.” 

Heading back to their bed, he settled before Beleg and felt his forehead. “There isn’t a fever, but you are breaking into a sweat. Are you certain you do not wish to see Aravilui?” 

Beleg merely shook his head, then laid back down. Giving a frustrated sigh, Mablung curled around him, though it took time for him to calm down enough to allow sleep to enter him again. 

The second time he awoke it was to a continual motion right against him and a long string of words spoken in a tongue he did not understand. Beleg’s head was faced away from him, his body seizing. 

“ _Beleg?_ ” 

Mablung’s cry, strained in his throat as his entire world had just dropped out from underneath him. He scrambled onto his knees, turning Beleg over to find dark blood around his mouth and the pillow. Beleg continued to seize, muttering still in the strange tongue, his eyes shut and unresponsive to Mablung shaking his shoulders. His fever had returned, Mablung realized when he felt his head again. 

Words failing him, his heart hammering, he wrapped Beleg in their blanket and scooped him up in his arms, then ran out of their chamber, cursing himself for not having dragged Beleg to the infirmary in the first place. 

The halls were empty, silent save for the vaguest of whispers behind closed doors of elves who had just woken, still lazing about before tending to their day, their lives canopied in a comfort Mablung and Beleg could only imagine. 

Mablung’s legs found the door of the infirmary, and with one foot he banged hard, calling out Aravilui’s name. A moment later the door swung open, Aravilui regarding Mablung with a questioning, startled look. 

“I’m sorry if I disrupted you,” Mablung said, panting. 

“All of my patients have been tended to already,” Aravilui said. “I have been relaxing.” Her gaze turned to Beleg. “By the stars! Come inside!” 

She stood aside to let them through, commanding him to lay Beleg on one of the beds. When she pulled back the cover she gave a gasp. Her eyes, inky black, took in the full extent of Beleg’s injury, exposing more of his skin. She pressed down on the grey, fevered body below her. 

“What happened?” 

Mablung told her all he knew as she immediately went into action. She commented on not a word Mablung said, though he knew she was listening attentively even as she prepared an elixir for Beleg. The infirmary was soon filled with a chant, her hand waving over Beleg’s form, ceasing his seizure. She was of the Kinn-lai like Mablung, though her father was of the Hwenti, but she had inherited the Kinn-lai ability to weave enchantment by sheer will and words. The elixir, the crushed powder of herbs, and the root would help Beleg on their own, but her enchantment granted them a greater potency which prolonged their effects. 

With Aravilui’s attention solely on Beleg, Mablung paced the room, seeking to settle his own nerves after the ordeal. There were two other patients in the room, one tucked into a dark corner, curled up with arms over his head. Mablung recognized the sight of an elf having drunk until a pounding in his head would not abate. The elf periodically moaned pitifully, softly weeping from the pain. 

_If Saeros keeps this up, his head might just explode one day_ , Mablung thought. 

The other patient, located near the door, was a small child, her broken leg bandaged up against a splint. Perhaps the leg broke after falling off a tree, Mablung mused, as Beleg had done many centuries ago, climbing that tall tree just to get to Mablung. A smile came to him despite his anxiety over Beleg, remembering how much young Beleg had insisted he could leave the infirmary even as he could barely stand. 

“Where is Meleth, your most prized apprentice?” Mablung asked. 

“She is away for a while,” Aravilui explained. “Married just a few days before your arrival.” 

“Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot.” Mablung said, thinking back to the three friends he’d had to chase away from danger more than once in their youth. “To Noríol, yes? I’ve always wondered why she did not prefer my youngest brother, though come to think of it, he never showed affection beyond that of friendship towards her.” 

“They are too much alike in their thinking, Eöl and Meleth,” Aravilui laughed. “And you cannot control who your heart sets its eyes on. Noríol and Meleth compliment each other nicely. She takes her healing too seriously, so it is nice to have someone to take her riding through the forests after I’ve managed to push her out.” 

“So you are content to leave my brother cooped up inside here tinkering in the smithy with the stout people who visit us.” Mablung shook his head, grinning. 

Aravilui came up beside him and showed him a small white cloth. “Look at his blood.”

In the light Mablung could see that the dark blood had an obvious tinge of green. “This was inside his veins? What is it?” 

“A type of poison, but that is where our problem lies: no matter what I do, I cannot draw his poison out.” She led him back to the bed, motioning to Beleg who rested with his eyes closed, not giving any indication he could hear them. “The poison is set deep within him. After you arrived, it began to spread into his veins. You can see it plainly, can’t you?” 

“Yes,” Mablung said, the breath knocked out of him. Up close, he could see that under Beleg’s pallid skin ran veins of a dark emerald hue. Mablung felt his entire heart collapse unto itself, thinking back to how well Beleg was before crossing the Girdle, how he had become now. “You cannot take this out?” 

“Even if I cut him full open,” Aravilui said. “He would bleed to death, for one thing. I also suspect his poison is of not of the earth itself, not a malady any of my antidotes can cure.” 

Mablung cocked his head to one side in question, but she didn’t answer his question. Sitting herself beside Beleg, Aravilui gently woke him from sleep. 

“You had us frightened, dear solider,” she said, smiling at her patient, who took in his surroundings with a frown. 

“You are in the infirmary of Menegroth,” Aravilui explained. “What was the last thing you remember, soldier?” 

“You dragged me here, you bastard,” Beleg said to Mablung, grinning weakly before dissolving into a coughing fit, more blood dribbling down his mouth. Mablung wiped around Beleg’s mouth with the cloth, wincing at the green among the blood. 

“Had I not, I would have presented King Elu Thingol with a deceased body, which I do not think he would appreciate seeing at breakfast. He holds you in high esteem, almost as much as he does myself.” 

Beleg’s hand mimicked the hand statue in their room as he wore a cheeky grin. 

Ignoring their banter, Aravilui set her hand firmly on his shoulder. “Beleg, dear, I need you to help me. You have been poisoned, but I cannot drain it out of you. Do you recall anything unusual you might have encountered? Did you consume anything that might have disagreed with you?” 

“I was fine until we passed the Girdle,” Beleg said. 

Twisting her mouth in thought, Aravilui nodded. “Anything else?” 

“He said a thought scared him off,” Mablung added, “and hallucinations plagued him throughout the night.” 

Aravilui raised her hand. “He is perfectly capable of speech, captain.” 

“What Mablung said is true,” Beleg said. “But I was perfectly fine before! We were journeying back from Mithrim, and save for one incident with the Black One’s foes, our travel had been undisturbed. Except…” Eyes growing wide, Beleg stared off into the distance as a memory suddenly struck. “There was a tower, tall, and as wide as three large trees. You could not see it until you’re suddenly staring right at the door. I did not mean to approach it or to seek it out. I was gazing around barren plains for a moment and then suddenly seeing the door the next.” 

A sharp shudder suddenly ran through Beleg. Mablung gripped his arms, fearing his beloved was about to go into another fit, but Beleg gripped his arms back and with a nod and after a deep breath settled back on the bed. 

“I remembered a face, before the door,” he said. “Monstrous, a beauty twisted into all the horrors of the world. Her teeth, they were all sharp as fangs, and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Just the thought of it brought a terror through me. I thought I would never forget it, and yet somehow everything of this incident has left my mind. But that is all I can remember. If the face I saw, if she had anything to do with my condition, I cannot remember anything else.” 

Aravilui, whose arms were folded the entire time, nodded, her lips pursed in concentration. “We have a tower which is invisible until you come right before its door, a terrifying woman, and this poison. I was right to think this isn’t a poison any of my antidotes could cure.” She glanced at Mablung. “I hate to ask of you to go on another journey when you had only just returned.”

“But if we do not head back out, he will die,” Mablung said. “If to Mithrim we must go to cure him, then so be it. I am not wasting any more time.” 

“I will come with you,” Aravilui said, “as I may find a means to make an antidote for Beleg inside Mithrim. My sister can take over the infirmary while we are gone.” 

“We will also need others, in case there is an attack,” Mablung said. “Is your wife off duty?” 

“Since three days ago, yes,” Aravilui said. “She will be more than willing to come, especially if I am coming too.”

*

Most of the elves had woken, and the serving maid brought breakfast for the three patients. The young girl’s parents came and fed and sang softly to her, but Saeros could only keep down his medicine before asking to just go back to sleep.

Meleth appeared briefly, her own dark eyes twinkling with the new dawn of her marriage, and embraced Mablung before getting an update on Beleg’s condition. Noríol and Eöl visited for a brief time after, and though Beleg begged them not to, they must have told his family, for soon Celeblas and Ivrolach, his mother and father, visited, with Mablung’s own mother Morispiní in tow. Ivrolach sat in silence, too stunned to speak, while the women fussed and wept over him against Beleg’s instance that he was fine. 

“Mablung, you bastard!” 

“That was the work of my brother this time, Mithvain, my love!” Mablung shouted on his way out the door. 

“Shut it, both of you!” Saeros groaned, clamping his hands hard against his ears. 

Mablung spent the time away from the infirmary getting everything in order. After an emergency meeting with King Thingol, he was sent to speak with and collect Tirithon for the journey, and afterwards went to retrieve Maethrowen, Aravilui’s wife. A Nando of great height, she was adjusting a braid wrapped around her brow, her hair bushy and honey-toned under the braid. She spoke with a shorter elf, red hair a burning flame in the dim hall. Aewen was her name, Mablung recalled, the color of her hair an indication of her belonging to the Penni elves, as the trait unique among them. 

Noticing Mablung’s arrival, the two women politely bowed in greeting for the captain of the Sindar. Mablung briefed Maethrowen without asking Aewen to leave, who, noticing the nature of their discussion, made to slip out before Mablung called her back. 

“My husband may be too weak to use his own bow, and your skills match his,” Mablung said. “Will you follow us?” 

Aewen bowed. “It will be my honor.” 

Mablung gave a nod. “Good. I have also selected Tirithon for our company. I hope that will not be a problem for you?” 

Aewen’s face instantly went red. “Oh, no, of course not!” she squeaked. Mablung smirked and left them to finalize the arrangements. 

Horses from the stable were collected, as a journey purely on foot would take too long by his estimate. A carriage was also brought for Beleg if he tired from the travel. Aravilui, with no experience in military training, would sit in the carriage as well to watch over him and benefit from the protection the carriage provided. 

One of his sisters, Môriol, chased him down, tiny feathers and beads bouncing in her hair, to offer him the lembas Queen Melian had prepared for their journey. 

“And there is something else, from Mormeril,” she said, and handed him a small slip of paper. A drawing, by his other sister’s hand, depicted Meleth with Noríol and Eöl on the day of the wedding. 

“It must have been a joyous ceremony,” he commented sadly, then folded up the paper, tucked it in a pocket of his cloak, and embraced Môriol before heading back.

*

Beleg was slipping on his quiver, his body already armored, when Mablung returned to the infirmary.

“Who brought you your armor?” he demanded. “You’re too weak for battle!”

“If I can stand, then I am still capable,” Beleg said, and with a grunt stood up and marched towards the door, his worried parents close behind. Mablung walked beside him, ready to grab him should he fall, but he made it outside without his legs giving out. Mablung motioned to the carriage, but Beleg pointedly refused, inching his way towards a horse. 

Sighing, Mablung climbed the same horse, right behind Beleg, and drew one arm around him. As the other members of the company settled themselves, he stole a glance back at Beleg’s parents. Their faces were drawn with much worry, Celeblas having dissolved into tears, the sight alone recalling the horror Mablung felt upon waking up to Beleg this morning. He kissed the back of Beleg’s head and stroked his cheek against him, his eyes sending a clear message to Ivrolach and Celeblas: _I will return your son._

After checking that everyone was ready, Mablung gave the order for his horse, and they were off.

*

Beleg grew too exhausted to keep riding a quarter of the way. The moment his head slumped, Mablung ordered them to stop and brought Beleg into the carriage, giving Aravilui a chance to examine him and administer any medicine that could help, if briefly.

Aewen, small and lithe and fast, would hurtle through the forests and slay any orc while the company were still a long way off. Tirithon too had his sword ready, through he walked beside the horse-drawn carriage, Maethrowen with her arrows ready on the other side. 

Mablung pushed them harder than he normally would have, refusing to stop save for whenever Beleg needed him to, to take another of Aravilui’s antidote or if he needed to lie down again. They ate tiny bites of lembas on the move and nothing more. 

It was with small relief when they at last reached Mithrim, for Mablung knew the next part of their mission would take more time. The rest of company were more optimistic, having observed that the Cerch i-Mbelain, which they used to indicate the days on the road, had not turned as many cycles as they had predicted. 

“Where to next?” Maethrowen asked Mablung. 

“My brother’s house,” Mablung said after a moment of thought. “This tower…surely Beleg could not have been the only one to see it. I must ask him if there had been any other occurrences among his kin. After that we will hunt for that tower and find a cure for Beleg.”

*

Morchanar was the lord of Mithrim and the eldest child of Morwë and Morispiní. His appearance was just as their father’s, though his kindly disposition was more akin to their mother. A crown of a dark and silverly branch he wore on his head, and silverly trims of his long robes reflected the starlight, drawing the company towards him. Luckily, they had no need to speak with the guard first, for Lord Morchanar himself was outside, admiring the stars with his wife, undoubtedly about to take a stroll under the starlight with her.

Seeing the company approach, he called out Mablung’s name and ran to embrace him. “What a surprise!” he said. “I had not expected you back so soon, dear brother, and with a larger company!” 

“We come not for a joyous reason, I’m afraid,” Mablung said, indicating behind himself as Beleg was helped out of the carriage by Aravilui and Maethrowen. 

“By the stars!” Morchanar cried out, hand over his heart, before rushing to help the women with Beleg. His wife, Mablung saw, took one look at Beleg, paled, and covered her face in her hands. 

They were taken to the halls of Morchanar and made to rest and eat their fill as they told their story to the elf lord. His wife, Emlinil, settled beside him at the table, and with her were their two eldest children. Of the Sinda, her hair shown as a silvery gold, accented by the darker jewels she loved and the long black dresses she wore. She listened with unshed tears in her eyes, not daring to look at Beleg for reasons Mablung knew too painfully well. 

“Have you come across any such tower?” Mablung asked. 

Morchanar, his brow lined with wrinkles, appearing far too much as their father in the days before his disappearance, shook his head. “There have not been any reports of coming across a tower, though we have had many disappearances.” He squeezed Emlinil’s hand. 

“No news about your daughter’s disappearance, then?” Mablung said, thinking back to sweet little Míwen. He was at Mithrim at the time of her birth, during his longest stay there, long enough to see her grow into a small cheerful child who loved to sing with her mother. It was the last time he had seen her before hearing news of her disappearance. 

“No news either for her or anyone else’s disappearance,” Morchanar said, forlorn. 

“Have you considered leaving Mithrim?” Aravilui asked.

“We have, as it grows more dangerous each year, but we are the first line of defense should Belegurth the Dark Hunter attack from the north. Where was this tower?”

“We do not know,” Mablung said. “Beleg remembers little. It could not have been anywhere near the halls, as from his description it appears to be in a barren land, perhaps northward. I do recall us traveling there at some point in our last visit.” 

“Does that sound familiar, uncle?” Mírion asked as his twin leaned forward politely, awaiting a response. His twin sister, Mírien, and he appeared virtually alike in face. Their eyes shone like the grey of their mother, though their hair and complexion was more that of the Kinn-lai, their hair cut short around their necks, though one parted his hair from the left and the other from the right. 

Beleg, who sat beside Mablung, had been trying to sit upright through the entire meeting until his eyes glassed over and his breath became labored. He placed his head on Mablung’s shoulder, unable to reply to Mírion, but clearly pushing himself to remain awake. Emlinil stole a glance in his direction at last and grew pale. Mablung knew what thoughts ran through her mind. 

“We must get going,” he told his brother. “The longer we wait, the worse it might get for him. And if this tower is where Míwen and the other missing elves are, then we must rescue them as soon as we can.” 

“But are you not exhausted from your travels?” Morchanar asked. “A search with a clear, alert mind is better than navigating the darkness while half-asleep.” 

“I fought a band of orcs half-asleep once,” Mablung said. 

“You were lucky once, but try not to make it a habit.” 

Mablung bowed his head, but in the end they were convinced to rest, if for a short while, to gather their strength and make plans. From the topmost level of the hall, Mablung surveyed the northern lands, discerning where the tower might stand. 

When they were ready, they set out. But before leaving, Morchanar approached him and pushed into his hands two small glass balls, the inside burning red though the surface was cool to the touch.

“What are these?” Mablung asked. 

“Shortly after your company retired, a vision came to Emlinil, and I set my smiths and glassblowers to work. Fire is contained within them. Throw them against a wall, a floor, or a foe. The glass will break and the fire will engulf all of the vicinity within seconds.” 

“It may be useful, depending on what we may find there,” Mablung said, thanking him. 

His brother also sent Mírion and Mírien with them, for they were wardens themselves and knew the lands well. Beleg was dressed in his armor, though he had grown very pale even with all the medications Aravilui and Mithrim’s own healer had given him and all the spells they cast to slow the poison. Coming into the room and beholding the sight, Mablung nearly lost his mind. But Mírion and Mírien were with Beleg, acting as his personal guards yet giving him enough space for his own dignity, and so Mablung restrained himself. 

“If you insist,” he said instead to Beleg’s weak smile. 

As before, Beleg rode his horse with Mablung behind him, clutching him close. The company traveled northwards to Lake Mithrim, shivering as the land about them grew colder. 

“I remember this,” Mablung said, as they walked the path of one of the lake’s rivers, headed straight north and a little ways separate from the small clusters of villages. “You come to a plain that’s all barren, like you said.”

They dismounted and began their search in groups of two, though Aewen flitted around, swift as a tiny bird, her sharp eyes gleaming over details that otherwise may have gone unnoticed by the others. Mablung walked beside Beleg, and though he did not want to push him beyond his capabilities at the moment, he urged Beleg to recall as much as he could of that day. A little farther off, back towards the lake, Maethrowen inspected the area, walking around Aravilui as she took samples from the lake. 

“What is that?” Aewen asked, pointing a spot behind the tall mountains ahead. 

“That is Angband, standing behind the Ered Wethrin,” Mablung replied. “A few days on foot separates the two mountains, but you can see it from here.” 

Aewen took a step back, nearly crushing Tirithon’s foot. “Who would wish to live here?” 

“You will find danger wherever you live,” Mablung said. “Not even Cuiviénen was safe from the horrors in the shadows.” 

“Imagine how that must have been,” Tirithon said and smirked, bending to whisper in Aewen’s ear. “You could feel their breath against your ear, just a moment, before they took you.” 

He made to grab her as if to frighten her, but she swung around and elbowed him, laughing. Mablung chuckled at them both and thought to himself, _These two will wed and I will have been the one responsible_. Then he noticed that Beleg stood away from them, seemingly not having heard the words exchanged. He stood frozen, his eyes wide. 

“Beleg?”

“It’s here,” Beleg said faintly. “The tower. I’m here.” 

Immediately, Mablung called for the others, and he was the first by Beleg’s side. It happened so fast that, though he had Beleg’s account, to have it happening to him as well took him by shock. He must have run through the tall tower in getting to Beleg, but once he gripped his shoulder and turned around, he was staring at a tall black stone door. Two steps backward and the door and tower suddenly disappeared. 

“Impossible,” Mablung said under his breath, tentatively brushing against the hard wall of the tower he had just run through. 

“I…see it,” Maethrowen said, perplexed, behind them, and the others mumbled their agreement. 

“How many times have we ventured here but never saw the tower?” Mírien asked and shuddered. “My sister might be in here…” 

Mablung studied Beleg’s face, ashen grey, the green venom more visible in the blood vessels running though his face. 

“I am…terrified…” Beleg confessed in the Kinn-lai tongue, not wishing for the other wardens of Doriath to hear. “That face, Mablung…” 

Gripping him by the arm, Mablung pressed a kiss of his lips, ignoring the thick taste of metal. “I will not have you fall, not like this.” 

The others readied their weapons, and Mablung kicked the door open, surprised to find it give easily. 

They had expected an attack, but when nothing happened, Mablung took a tentative step inside with Aewen close by, surveyed the room, then commanded the others to come in. They filed inside slowly; though Aewen kept a close eye, they were on alert for any sudden movement from the shadows.

Inside, the tower was oddly bright as if lit by an all-encompassing light, the floors a white marble, pristine and without a speck of dust. Far beyond, across from the door, fifty paces away was the staircase, a giant marble snake that curved to the very top of the tower. 

“Anything here that jars your memory?” Aravilui asked Beleg, who walked the length of the tower with one hand on the wall. He considered her question, taking in the brightness of the tower, but shook his head in the end. 

“I do not feel right here,” he said. “Whatever my poison must be, it did not come from inside.” 

Mablung, who had reached the foot of the stairs, was about to ask, “Then after we leave, what is there next to do?” but did not complete his question when he looked up. A woman of unimaginable beauty stood at the top of the stairs, regarding him. Though he never felt an inclination towards the opposite sex, he found himself transfixed by her gentle beauty. 

“Lady Lúthien?” he finally managed as the woman drew closer. 

Eyes of sapphires regarded him for a moment, then the blue darkened, bleeding red, just as her face slowly morphed into a hideous shape, her teeth bared sharp and long. Mablung threw a glance at Beleg and knew who she was. Not wasting a second more, he threw out a punch; she dodged with a gleeful shriek that nearly made his ears bleed. 

With a shout, arrows flew towards her, but in that moment a downpour of large bat-like fiends rained down the stairs and attacked the company. They fought with no weapons save for long sharp nails as thick and strong as talons, and long sharp teeth that sought out veins, drawing blood and lapping away whenever they could. Their leader, the one who Mablung had mistaken for Lúthien, sought out his neck as her strong arms pinned him to the ground, but freeing one leg, he kicked her with a force that sent her flying off, hissing as she clutched her jaw. 

He scrambled to his feet and turned towards his company. A giant bat had just lunged towards Aewen, who fell, hitting the ground roughly on her back. She kicked up her legs, the tip of her boots colliding with the bat’s chest over its heart just as Tirithon jumped up and kicked its skull. The bat’s ugly eyes bulged in shock as it went hurtling towards the wall, knocked unconscious. 

Maethrowen shielded both Aravilui and Beleg, who were pressed against the wall. Her arrows flew from her bowstring two at a time, her knife appearing quickly to slash any who came near before disappearing completely, the arrows back singing through the air. Behind her Beleg sluggishly pulled one arrow back, weakly surveying the scenery to locating a target. A black shadow slithered down behind him. 

Mablung’s shocked cry alerted everyone as the sharp talons gripped around Beleg’s middle, hoisting him up. With a triumphant shriek, the bat flew up the steps, zipping by Mablung who kicked off into a sprint. Cackling, the other bats followed, having abandoned the fight now that their prize was in their grip. The elven company ran behind Mablung, their weapons still drawn. 

Reaching the landing first, Mablung listened for any sound of Beleg’s cries or the bats, but when all was silent - too silent - he broke into a frantic run. 

“You cannot save him,” said a voice, low and sad, that sent a shiver up Mablung’s spine. Spinning around he caught a glimpse of an elf, or what was once an elf, now only a glimmer disappearing through a wall. 

“What was that?” Mírien asked as the company reached him. “I thought the _Agaraug_ were strange enough.” 

“Agaraug,” Mablung repeated. “Fitting name.” 

Mablung continued on his search. They rounded a corner, and a few paces down came across a wide archway. The leader of the Agaraug stood before them, long black cloak framing the woman poised tall and proud, a sharp white halo about her. Mablung found, much to his dismay, that none of the injuries he had inflicted on her appeared on her body. 

“Who are you and where is Beleg?” 

“Thuringwethil I am known to all,” the woman said. “Your Beleg is safe. We had to harvest from his body what we needed for this process to work. He will be returned to you, though alive we cannot promise.” 

“Let me see him _now_!” 

Smirking, Thuringwethil stepped back, revealing the entire hall that lay beyond the archway. Laughing, she was undeterred when Mablung shoved her aside and they filed into the room, the sight that lay before them freezing them in fear. 

Long lines of dead bodies littered the floor, hordes of elves claimed victims by the Agaraug. Nearly half of the mutilated bodies had been stripped bare, their faces frozen in expressions of horror and agony. Mablung’s heart leapt to his throat, scanning the vicinity for any sign of Beleg, fearing who else he might recognize from the bodies. 

“He is not among the dead. Yet.” 

Thuringwethil circled them, smiling as she took in each of their looks. 

“What curse or poison have you put in him?” 

“I am not the source of the poison, if that is what you wish to call it. Inside him we fostered a cure, my lover and I. These elves you see were the failed experiments, dead before our master could reanimate them, make them the perfect beautiful beings of his own creation.” 

She cast off her cloak, revealing Beleg by her feet. With just a motion of her hand his body rose up enough for her to extract a thick, black vapor from his mouth, then cast it down to one of the bodies. It belonged to a very small elf, no more than a child, who stirred as though gently woken by her mother. But before the child could turn and face them, Mablung feared he knew her identity already. 

Mírion and Mírien both stepped forward, gasping out “Míwen?” in shared horror. Their young sister turned her pale, unseeing eyes towards them. 

“Such a beautiful one,” Thuringwethil said. “Had it all gone to plan, she would have served a wife for many.” 

Mablung could only glare at the Agaraug’s leader, shaking so much from his own fury that words failed him. Mírien, stepping closer to Míwen, got down on one knee, her arms outstretched as she wept and beckoned her sister towards her. 

“Niece, return at once,” Mablung hissed under his breath, but Mírien ignored him, singing a lullaby in the Kinn-lai tongue, encouraging the child closer to her arms. Thuringwethil watched with delight, eyes gleaming bright; undoubtedly they too had a role, Mablung realized, entrapped in the tower to be used for other purposes. He fought off the urge to run to Beleg’s side or to Míwen, uncertain what his next step should be. Beside him, Mírion wept freely, and behind Mablung he could hear the hearts of his company pounding as though transfixed at the sight before them. 

Míwen threw up her arms, joining her sister in song, voice broken though it was, the words slurred, as she inched closer. Mírien nodded encouragingly, her sister stepping right into her outstretched arms. Then swift as lightening came the flash of metal, and the blade drove through Míwen’s skull. The body fell and ceased to move. Before Thuringwethil could react, Mírien sprang towards her, the bloodied blade against her throat.

“I do not know what becomes of the souls of my kin taken by death,” she hissed, her face streaked with tears, “but whatever it is, they are free of you.” 

Hissing, Thuringwethil grabbed her by the head and flung her aside, but something in the act triggered Beleg’s mind back to reality. He wrestled Thuringwethil to the ground, pounding her skull against the blood-smeared ground. There was a horrid shriek, and her army of Agaraug reappeared, the scenery dissolving into battle once more. 

With difficulty, Mablung managed to get near Beleg, who, with no arrow or bow on him, contended against attacks as best as his ailing body could allow. Mablung gripped him tightly against himself with one arm, his sword dancing wildly, slashing wildly and beheading any other of the revived corpses or Agaraug who dared to draw near. 

“ _Out!_ ” Mablung bellowed at his company. “ _It is useless remaining here! Get out, now!_ ” 

They raced out of the room, staying as close as they could to one another lest they became lost from the group. Mablung carried Beleg one-armed, refusing to put him down until Beleg slid off his arms, steading himself on his feet. 

“I can take it from here,” he said weakly, but Mablung refused to let go of his wrist. 

“Take any of my weapons, if you insist,” Mablung said, to which Beleg nodded and relieved Mablung of his quiver and bowstring and one of the daggers set against his belt. He knew better than to persuade Beleg to do otherwise. 

They ran as far from the hall as they could, till the cries of their foes grew quieter. Some of the Agaraug pursued them, but were slain easily. Soon all that was left was a seemingly endless hall, darker than the rest, and an eerie silence that fell heavy over their shoulders as a bitterly cold chill. 

“Anyone missing from our number?” Mablung asked, counting silently. 

“No one missing, but the road back is,” Aravilui announced, stepping closer and raising her hands against the blackened wall. “The enchantments here are greater than my own, I’m afraid. I cannot counter it.” 

Mablung cursed under his breath. “How do we get back out?” There was no way of telling how far up they were or whether there were any windows they could break through. And even if they could, there was still the matter of Beleg’s illness. He was still very much ill and growing steadily worse. 

“I was a fool to think we could simply find an antidote here!” Mablung bemoaned loudly, drawing Beleg to himself into a tight embrace, kissing his brow. He stomped his feet to the ground. “Is there no cure for this? I refuse to have them take him! I will die alongside him if I must!” 

There came a faint light a few paces away. A child with a tall elf beside her dressing her in a long white veil, who disappeared from sight a moment later. The child turned to them, and though her face was covered, Mablung knew her to be Míwen. She approached them slowly, and all drew out their weapons, but Míwen did not attack. Stopping midway, she pointed towards her right, and remained in such position. 

When their fear abated, they stepped forward, drawing close to where Míwen’s hand pointed. 

“Míwen?” Mablung called out softly when he was right in front of her. She did not move her head or given any sign she had heard him, and Mablung restrained himself from pulling away her veil. He followed the direction she pointed. 

Another long hall stretched out, dark and seemingly empty, and seeing no other option, they followed. Míwen disappeared the moment they turned, only to reappear moments later, a little far off, pointing to another direction. Behind them the hall they had just left fell into thick, impenetrable darkness. 

_She’s barricading us from the Agaraug_ , Mablung realized, and his heart suddenly filled with pride at his niece. Smiling gratefully to her, he led his company towards their destination. 

At last they stepped into a circular room, tall windows facing north, and Míwen disappeared once more and never was seen again. 

“Sweet sister,” Mírion and Mírien wept, and the others mumbled their agreement. 

Mablung leaned out of the tower. “We could make our escape,” he said, frowning, “but there is still the matter of finding a cure for Beleg.” 

“Perhaps I am meant to die here,” Beleg said, his smile oddly at peace, setting off an alarm inside Mablung. “You have seen what they do to some of our number. Report that to Lord Morchanar and King Thingol, and to all the tribal leaders south and east of here.” 

“Do not give up so easily, fool, not after all this!” Mablung said, crouching down and shaking Beleg’s shoulders, though his heart sank at seeing the resignation in his husband’s eyes. 

“The river!” Aewen cried out, leaning out of the window, squinting her sharp eyes. “I think…yes! It is the same color as the poison!” 

“What are you implying?” Mablung asked, standing up, as Tirithon’s face lit with sudden understanding.

“Thuringwethil said she was not the source of the poison,” Aewen said, “but perhaps this river is!” 

“It wasn’t green when we passed it,” Maethrowen said, and Mírion nodded.

“I’ve come by it many times before,” he said, “but I never drank from there.” 

“Then that solves it, then!” Aravilui said. “You can only see the river’s true danger from afar! It would account for the elves gone missing. A number of them must have drunk from this river, thinking it safe, not having seen the poison, then when they grew weak, they were taken in for the Dark Hunter’s schemes!” 

“But I do not recall drinking from the river,” Beleg said slowly. “Or perhaps…I did…” 

“Leave it to the Agaraug to alter your memory,” Mablung said. “She ensured that you would return here. I should have seen that coming! Of course the poisoned only began to show symptoms when we crossed the Girdle - to ensure we left there with a greater number, a greater number of victims!”

Pounding one foot on the ground once more, he turned back to the doorway they had come through. The thick darkness was starting to dissipate, Míwen’s enchantment steadily failing, and there was no telling how much more time they had before Thuringwethil and her army of Agaraug would attack again. 

“All of you, out right now! Jump down, crawl down the walls, any way you can get out this place!” He turned to Beleg, who studied Mablung carefully. “Our final chance is that river. Beleg, if you want to remain with me, we can leave together.” 

Mírion and Mírien, knowing their uncle well, did not stay to argue, slipping out of the window with ease, helping Aravilui along the way. Aewen too took off after Mablung gave her a stern look, but Tirithon and Maethrowen remained behind. 

“What if they attack?” Tirithon asked. 

“There’s too many of them,” Mablung said. “We cannot stand up against them all. But I have a means to destroy this entire tower before they can get to us. Now, go! Unless you wish to burn along with Agaraug!” 

Giving each other confused looks and shrugs, they slipped out after Aewen. 

Mablung gathered Beleg into his arms, who held tightly onto him as he settled on the window sill. He said nothing as Mablung tugged out two glass balls from the inside pocket of his cloak, then threw them into the thinning darkness, leaping out with Beleg tightly embraced just as the explosion shook the tower. Landing roughly, he ran without looking back, and did not realize that another object had fallen out from inside of his cloak. 

The others had already reached the river, regarding it with suspicion. Aravilui studied the contents before pulling out vials from her satchel and gingerly filling them with samples. Mablung settled Beleg beside the river, noting that the green of his veins and the water were the exact same color. 

“Do you trust me to do this?” he asked Beleg kindly as he produced a small dagger. 

“I always trust you with my life,” Beleg said, smiling weakly. The blade prickled the skin of a vein, then dug deep enough to draw blood, the poison spilling freely back into the river. Mablung’s laughter rang out across the starlight sky. 

“The poison’s coming out!” he announced to the company, his own heart threatening to burst from his happiness. Beleg smiled, though sadly, as though his own life escaped into the river, and for a moment Mablung feared he was too late in saving him. But he squeezed Beleg’s shoulder, whispering to him, “I will not let you go, I promised your parents.” Beleg leaned his head back, studying the stars above with a peaceful smile, then closed his eyes.

*

When he came to, it was to the sound of wheels screeching to a halt and a softness underneath him. Mablung sat next to him, studying him intently, and upon seeing that Beleg was awake, he leaned closer.

“I regret to inform you you will be with us for a long while yet,” he said, earning a playful punch from Beleg. 

“Bastard,” he laughed. He took a deep intake of breath, feeling far better that he had since before their arrival to Doriath. He made to sit up, but Mablung gently pushed him back down. 

“You still require rest,” he said, kissing Beleg on the lips and moaning softly. “Stay until we reach Menegroth.” 

From beyond the carriage Beleg could hear soft voices in song and the crackling of a campfire. “I take it we are alone.” 

“The others are eating, and enjoying being alive,” Mablung chucked. “We could join them.”

“Or remain here.” 

Mablung raised one eyebrow. “Oh?” He ran a line around and down Beleg’s neck with kisses as one hand caressed up his torso. “I wonder what the reason for that may be.” 

“You seem you can hardly hold back yourself, love,” Beleg said. “Do you really wish to rock the carriage? They might not be thinking we were attacked by orcs.” 

“Nay, not when there is a bed awaiting us to create more dents in.” Mablung settled beside him, one arm over him protectively. Beleg gave a sigh, hating the way Mablung kept teasing him, but seeing the look on his face, he grew silent. “Mírion and Mírien are back with their family. We’ve notified Morchanar of all we had witnessed; they plan to scout the area for any more of the fiends to fend off. Aravilui has made a first-line antidote for the river, and they hope to completely clean out the river lest the poison seeps into the lake. We’ve rested for a few days in the meantime before heading back home.”

“I slept through all of that?” 

“You did, but you were in great need of rest. It’s a miracle you did not die of excessive blood loss.” 

Beleg shifted, craning his neck to find Mablung’s lips, giving him a lingering kiss full of promise for more to come. 

“Indeed,” Beleg said, “but I do have a very good captain to ensure I survive anything.”

“A captain who has married a very stubborn spirit,” Mablung added with a grin.

*

Thuringwethil surveyed the damage, fighting to keep a shriek of rage from ripping out of her throat again. Her disciples and the failed experiments, all dead, burned by flames and scattered about in pieces, ashes, shards of damaged soul. She would have to call Sauron for a meeting, and soon. They had been hoping to find a means to revive the deceased elves. The river alone could not bring them back; they needed a live specimen, and now he had fled and the tower was near burned to the ground.

The thought of having to face her and Sauron’s master with the news filled her with cold dread and vengeful anger. 

That was when the folded piece of parchment drew her attention. It had settled undisturbed by the flames, perhaps something that dropped by one of the elves during their escape. 

Picking it up, she unfolded the parchment and beheld the illustration of three elves in the picture. One, she noticed instantly, resembled the leader of the company who had come to her tower. The other two were clearly also elves of the southern lands of Doriath, both smiling in a moment of happiness. 

_Newlyweds_ , she realized, vaguely recognizing the ceremonial attire. 

Smiling, she rolled up the parchment and kept it with her, having already formulated a new plan, a new experiment, and a chance for vengeance.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is meant to lead into A Reunion in Dor Dínen, where we learn just what happened to two of the elves Thuringwethil sets her eyes on. As explained there, Noríol is the elf Rôg before his name change. 
> 
> Many thanks to Azzy for the prompt! I did enjoy plotting this story and exploring a little more of my favorite family of elves: the House of Morwë! :)


End file.
